“My daughter-in-law needs no one, not even her own child!” — the story of a woman who does not know what family means
After my son’s wedding, I had hoped our family would find happiness. But from the very first day, I knew this woman—Emily—was not for me. It wasn’t jealousy, as some might assume. I had long accepted that my son was grown, married, and that another woman now took precedence in his life. I would have welcomed her gladly, offered support, stood by her side. Yet, the more time passed, the clearer it became—she loved no one. Not me, not my son, and worst of all, not even her own child.
From the start, Emily put only herself and her desires first. I noticed it before the wedding but foolishly believed a child might soften her. Make her kinder, more caring. I was wrong. She remained as cold as ever. My son, it seemed, was merely a temporary convenience—useful only so long as he served her needs.
They rarely visited. Family gatherings were always held at our home, the only times Emily deigned to appear—immaculately dressed, nails polished, hair styled, in costly clothes. That alone would have been tolerable, but the sight of my son broke my heart. He looked weary, unkempt, adrift—not like a happily married man, but like a man surviving on foreign soil.
“Oh, Emily, you don’t keep an eye on your husband at all,” my sister remarked cautiously once over the Christmas table.
Emily merely smirked.
“I didn’t sign up to be his mother. Let him look after himself.”
I held my tongue, though every word I wished to say burned in my throat. Another thought took root: “Does she care at all how he appears? So long as her lashes are curled and her nails gleam?”
Time passed. Then came the phone call.
“Mum, can I come stay with you? Just for a little while…” His voice was hoarse, fragile.
An hour later, he arrived—pale, feverish, barely standing. The sight nearly felled me. The doctor had prescribed injections—twice daily, strictly timed. And Emily? Emily declared,
“I won’t be setting alarms for this. Let his mother do it if she’s so worried.”
So he came. So much for a wife. No care, no concern. I thought, after this, he might finally consider divorce. Yet months later, they decided… to have a child.
My grandson was born, but I saw no love from his mother. Everything was done by rote—feed, change, lay down. No kisses, no warmth, no embrace. A machine, not a mother. I remember their holiday plans. Emily refused to take the baby—”he’ll ruin the trip”—and suggested leaving him with a friend. Not with me, nor her in-laws—we all worked. My son refused; he wouldn’t abandon the child. So she went alone.
My son stayed. He cooked, walked, cared for the boy—all on his own. That was the first time he truly considered leaving her. But, as always, he faltered, hoping she might change. She didn’t. They remain together, though more often than not, he sleeps at mine—after quarrels he can no longer endure.
Emily lives as if alone. She needs no one. Her husband—a housemate. Her child—an inconvenience. I cannot fathom… Why marry if you want no family? Why bear a child if you want no part of him? For what? For appearances?
My son suffers. I see it. Yet still, he hopes. And still, I wait—for the day he finally realizes this woman cannot be mended. Only then, perhaps, will a true life begin. One without a cold wife, without hollow pretence, but with a small, beloved boy in his arms.
